Paul Sherman sat at the bar of the Prancing Panther’s Gentleman's Club with a sigh. After a long week of work, today was probably his first real day of rest in years. His sisters had told him that he had to take some more time off, so he went to the nearest place he could get a drink. Taking a large sip of beer Paul looked around himself and got a feel for the different patrons of the bar he was at. Next to him on his right was a melancholy Chinese man. Judging by the paint on his fingers the man was an artist hard at work. On Paul’s left was a man that was hard to describe, mostly because he kept his face shrouded in the collars of his trench coat.
The Man to Paul’s left had between his fingers an odd looking coin. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that Paul could work out that the coin was a Canadian two dollar coin. Paul wasn’t sure why the man would have one of those here in Oregon but wasn’t about to ask him. Unfortunately for Paul, the man seemed to pick up on Paul’s staring and turned to face him.
“Got money on the mind friend?” The man said in a voice that could only be described as charming yet sinister. He rubbed the face of the coin softly, waiting for Paul’s response.
Having a few drinks in him already Paul figured there wasn’t much harm in answering the question, and he was curious to find out more about this strange man. While Paul gave a brief explanation of his financial situation, he studied the man’s face. The man was white, with short black hair. He had a pointed nose, and a mouth permanently locked in a sinister grin.
“You say you’re looking for a better paying job huh?” The man followed up. “I might know an opportunity, but I’m not sure it’s the kind of work you’re cut out for.”
“At this point, just about anything that pays better than a cashier is something I’m considering,” Paul said with a sigh, turning back to look at the drink in front of him.
“Well if you’re looking for something that pays well, just find your way to the Drowned Rat’s Wharf. Be mindful what you’re signing up for if you do show.” The man placed some money on the table to pay for his drink and stood up.
“What would I be signing up for?”
The man flipped the coin in his right hand, and when he spoke next it almost sounded like it was coming from an entirely new person.
“I’m sure you already know.”
When Paul arrived at the Drowned Rat’s Wharf he was confronted by a smell putrid as no other. If he hadn’t been fired from his cashier job, and if he wasn’t so desperate for money, maybe he wouldn’t haven’t to experience the smell at all. All Paul could think about was how desperate he was for money right now. Just finding the Wharf gave him all sorts of information that would turn a sane man away. The whole place was run by the Mafia menace that has been in Old Town for years now. Paul dreaded the day he would have to resort to illegal forms of income, but he guessed that day has come.
As he entered the main Wharf area (at least the biggest room he’s seen so far) Paul was quickly stopped by a main in a trenchcoat with the collars pulled up. The man was holding a Canadian two dollar coin in his right hand, and Paul knew he must be the man he ran into at the bar weeks ago, but this man had a completely different face.
“I see you’ve come after all.” The man said with that same sinister grin plastered on a stranger’s face. “Here’s how this works. We’ll tell you when it’s time to work, and you’ll come down here. You will unload crates from the boat that docks, and place them in the storeroom there. Once you’re done you’ll be given some cash, more than enough for what little we ask of you, and then you’ll go home.”
“Simple enough.” Paul cut in. “What’s in the crates?”
The other man paused a moment, before continuing. “Consider your generous payments as a bonus for your cooperation and silence on these matters. That means, no questions you know we’re not going to answer. You got all that?”
Paul stood stoically for a moment before nodding. He didn’t like the feel of this. The man he was talking to gave him no sense of security, and being so deprived of information on the matter was certainly frustrating. Unfortunately, he was smart enough to know he wouldn’t get any answers he didn’t need.
“How will I know when I’m needed?” Paul finally asked.
“We’ll reach out to you.” His answer was just as cryptic and useless as Paul figured it would be. “You can start right away.” With a snap of his finger, and a blink of Paul’s eyes suddenly there were people in the Wharf, busily unloading crates from a small boat that somehow snuck it’s way to the dock here on the river. At first, Paul was surprised, but soon realized it was probably just some cheap trick to mess with him and the people were just waiting around the corner or something. The man in the trenchcoat laughed a dirty, dry laugh.
“Don’t think about it.” Was all he said. With a flip of a coin the man walked out of the wharf, and Paul figured he would probably never see him again.
The Man to Paul’s left had between his fingers an odd looking coin. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that Paul could work out that the coin was a Canadian two dollar coin. Paul wasn’t sure why the man would have one of those here in Oregon but wasn’t about to ask him. Unfortunately for Paul, the man seemed to pick up on Paul’s staring and turned to face him.
“Got money on the mind friend?” The man said in a voice that could only be described as charming yet sinister. He rubbed the face of the coin softly, waiting for Paul’s response.
Having a few drinks in him already Paul figured there wasn’t much harm in answering the question, and he was curious to find out more about this strange man. While Paul gave a brief explanation of his financial situation, he studied the man’s face. The man was white, with short black hair. He had a pointed nose, and a mouth permanently locked in a sinister grin.
“You say you’re looking for a better paying job huh?” The man followed up. “I might know an opportunity, but I’m not sure it’s the kind of work you’re cut out for.”
“At this point, just about anything that pays better than a cashier is something I’m considering,” Paul said with a sigh, turning back to look at the drink in front of him.
“Well if you’re looking for something that pays well, just find your way to the Drowned Rat’s Wharf. Be mindful what you’re signing up for if you do show.” The man placed some money on the table to pay for his drink and stood up.
“What would I be signing up for?”
The man flipped the coin in his right hand, and when he spoke next it almost sounded like it was coming from an entirely new person.
“I’m sure you already know.”
When Paul arrived at the Drowned Rat’s Wharf he was confronted by a smell putrid as no other. If he hadn’t been fired from his cashier job, and if he wasn’t so desperate for money, maybe he wouldn’t haven’t to experience the smell at all. All Paul could think about was how desperate he was for money right now. Just finding the Wharf gave him all sorts of information that would turn a sane man away. The whole place was run by the Mafia menace that has been in Old Town for years now. Paul dreaded the day he would have to resort to illegal forms of income, but he guessed that day has come.
As he entered the main Wharf area (at least the biggest room he’s seen so far) Paul was quickly stopped by a main in a trenchcoat with the collars pulled up. The man was holding a Canadian two dollar coin in his right hand, and Paul knew he must be the man he ran into at the bar weeks ago, but this man had a completely different face.
“I see you’ve come after all.” The man said with that same sinister grin plastered on a stranger’s face. “Here’s how this works. We’ll tell you when it’s time to work, and you’ll come down here. You will unload crates from the boat that docks, and place them in the storeroom there. Once you’re done you’ll be given some cash, more than enough for what little we ask of you, and then you’ll go home.”
“Simple enough.” Paul cut in. “What’s in the crates?”
The other man paused a moment, before continuing. “Consider your generous payments as a bonus for your cooperation and silence on these matters. That means, no questions you know we’re not going to answer. You got all that?”
Paul stood stoically for a moment before nodding. He didn’t like the feel of this. The man he was talking to gave him no sense of security, and being so deprived of information on the matter was certainly frustrating. Unfortunately, he was smart enough to know he wouldn’t get any answers he didn’t need.
“How will I know when I’m needed?” Paul finally asked.
“We’ll reach out to you.” His answer was just as cryptic and useless as Paul figured it would be. “You can start right away.” With a snap of his finger, and a blink of Paul’s eyes suddenly there were people in the Wharf, busily unloading crates from a small boat that somehow snuck it’s way to the dock here on the river.
At first, Paul was surprised, but soon realized it was probably just some cheap trick to mess with him and the people were just waiting around the corner or something. The man in the trenchcoat laughed a dirty, dry laugh.
“Don’t think about it.” Was all he said. With a flip of a coin the man walked out of the wharf, and Paul figured he would probably never see him again.